Sitting there with my eyes on the old fashioned herb-beds, with the old-fashioned scents in the air, and the dark belt of trees bounding the view on either side, I could believe that I had been out of Paris not three weeks, but three months.
The quiet lapped me round.

I could fancy that I had never loved anything else.

The wood-doves cooed in the stillness; occasionally the harsh cry of a jay jarred the silence.

It was an hour after noon, and hot.

I think I nodded.
On a sudden, as if in a dream, I saw Clon's face peering at me round the angle of the parlour door.